


i'll eat you whole (i love you so)

by v10l3t_jpg



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hair-pulling, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Kink Exploration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, food as a love language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 18:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30059976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v10l3t_jpg/pseuds/v10l3t_jpg
Summary: It contains the biggest slice of cheesecake Will's ever seen in his life. Not only is it more than a third of a cheesecake, it's easily three inches tall, loaded with cream and chocolate, garnished with strawberries and candied rose petals. Unfortunately for Will, it smells irresistible."Hannibal, there's no way I could eat all this." Will says wide eyed, worried for his already tested stomach capacity."Of course you can. Perhaps you just need some help."Pillow talk turns sexual fantasies. Will discovers that Hannibal - not content with any of the dinner guests who've overdone it at his table - has been longing the right partner to feed to capacity and praise for their hedonism. And what is Will if not prepared to do anything for Hannibal?Cue a mouth-wateringly kinky dinner party for two where Will gets progressively fuller and Hannibal finds it increasingly harder to contain himself.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	i'll eat you whole (i love you so)

**Author's Note:**

> Indulgence is the key here - Will indulges in far too much of his lover's cooking, Hannibal indulges in observing and participating, and I indulge in contributing feedism porn to this fandom. Everyone wins! Note: I didn't really tip the cannibalism scale either way so the food can be people if you want it to be.

They've reached a point in their relationship, Will supposes, where it's only natural for pillow talk to turn to sexual fantasies. There's been one bubbling away in Hannibal for a long time, and Will is eager to see it surface.

"For quite some time, I've had a persistent fantasy of feeding my partner until they can eat no more." Hannibal says softly, running a finger up and down the tendon in Will's wrist.

He hadn't quite expected that, but the longer he considers everything he knows about Hannibal, the more sense it seems to make – his passion for the culinary arts, his genuine love of cooking a good meal for a friend, even the way he tries to be subtle as he watches Will eat. Hell, that man can make a salad look like a piece of expressionist art and taste like it came out of a Michelin star kitchen.

"I'm sure you've had plenty of guests at your dinner table get a little carried away." Will says slowly, unsure how to respond. 

He feels the pillows move as Hannibal shakes his head. "It's different than that. I've never acted on this — been waiting for the right partner." 

"And I'm the right partner?" Will finds himself warming to the idea. 

All his life he’s been told he’s different from everyone else — always on the outskirts of a schoolyard friendship group, a conversation topic in psychiatric circles. It’s negative attention that leaves him feeling freakish, guarded. 

But Hannibal cherishes him, through both words and actions, that make him feel different as in  _ better _ . Hannibal makes Will feel special for more than his mirror neurons and hyperempathy, regarding him as the most interesting person in the room in a far more pleasant way than being gawked at like a zoo exhibit.

"I believe so. Tell me Will, have you ever eaten so much it hurts?" Hannibal's voice is soft in contrast with the bold question, pulling Will out of his thoughts and back onto the mattress beside him. 

He plays with Will's hand where it rests on the pillow between them, glowing with adoration as his fingertips admire the breadth of Will's palm, the length of his capable fingers. Will's brow twitches, wrapping his arm around his own midsection.  "To the point of throwing up, or…?"

"Not quite that far, that's what we're trying to avoid." Hannibal huffs a laugh, sliding the tips of his fingers up Will's palm. It tickles and Will's fingers flex involuntarily, squeezing his knees around Hannibal's.

Will's mind flicks back to childhood Halloweens – bringing up the rear of the group of neighborhood kids in his shitty homemade Hulk costume, fingers smudged with green face paint as they dip into his little bag over and over again.  He remembers not stopping until his stomach ache made him cry. Kid's logic – candy was scarce the rest of the year, and it didn't occur to him until he was almost too old for trick or treating that he could eke out his spoils for a few weeks. 

These things usually stem from childhood. Will clears his throat, brow twitching as he adjusts his shoulders on the mattress. "I've… overdone it once or twice, when I had the chance."

He pauses and when Hannibal doesn't contribute further, he adds "Are you asking me to overdo it on purpose?" 

"Yes." Hannibal whispers, like he's nervous to admit it – Will, who has never known Hannibal to carry himself with anything less than the confidence of a god, feels slightly unsettled. 

Will laces their fingers together down to the knuckle, eager to reassure his partner. "I can do that."

Hannibal breathes a shaky sigh of relief, pulling their intertwined hands to his mouth to kiss Will's dry knuckles.

"Were you afraid to tell me that?" Will asks out of curiosity, cautiously and blindly reaching out to stroke Hannibal's cheek with his free hand.

Hannibal shakes his head, breath hot as his lips brush over Will's skin. "You make me unafraid of everything, Will. My desires are… intense, shall we say. I was simply worried I might scare you off."

Will chuckles softly as warm lips connect with his knuckles again. "Take more than that to scare me, Doctor Lecter." he teases, as if his lover should know him better.

Hannibal only gives a contented hum in response and Will shifts closer, interest piqued.  "Tell me the full story." he challenges, the way he knows Hannibal likes. "Tell me exactly what you want to do to me."

* * *

As Hannibal had described, huskily and with excited reverence in the dark bedroom, so far they had done – or made a start at least, still early in the evening.

The table is set for two, both men dressed for dinner. Will's curls are parted to the side, wearing a simple yet elegant white shirt and his comfiest slacks. He won't pretend he didn't enjoy the way Hannibal's dark eyes trailed down his body at the front door, lips parted in interest.

Will sips his wine, absentmindedly playing with the knife as he waits for Hannibal – imagining his strong back working as he plates up, arranging the food with excitement buzzing just under his skin.

Currently, Will's nerves are more first date butterflies than job interview anxiety. This is good – he's going to keep it that way. He's not going to overthink it.

The clicking sound of shoes on the floor makes Will's head snap up. Hannibal's smile creases the corners of his eyes as he makes his way towards Will, a plate of something that smells gorgeous in each hand.

"Osso buco." Hannibal says proudly as the heaped ceramic plate clinks onto the table in front of Will.  Despite the impressive size of the portion, Hannibal hasn't been sloppy. It looks delicious, vegetables bright and fresh against the warmth of the sauce, arranged so beautifully Will almost doesn't want to eat it. But that would defeat this evening's purpose now, wouldn't it? 

Leaning over Will's shoulder, Hannibal reaches over and uncorks the bottle to top up Will's glass, and Will can smell the warm citrus and amber of his expensive cologne over the savoury sauce.

Will studies him – his high cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the jut of his upper lip. His hairspray is starting to relax its grip, allowing a few greying strands of hair to fall into his dark eyes, focused on the glass until they flick down to Will's with a smile.

Will thanks him as he replaces the cork, smiling as a strong hand gives his shoulder a loving squeeze before moving off.

"Veal shanks slow roasted in a white wine broth with carrot, onion, celery, tomato and some parsnips – garnished with gremolata, an Italian sauce made from parsley, garlic and lemon juice." Hannibal continues evenly, voice bright as he rounds the empty seat at the head of the table.

Will's heart flutters – he loves Hannibal and all his little eccentricities, his voice like silk as he describes the dish, excitement sparkling in his eyes.

By muscle memory, he deftly unbuttons his blazer as he takes his place opposite Will, fixing him with a soft look. "A dish I first enjoyed in Florence as a young man. I hope to enjoy it there again someday with you." 

Will's lips twitch into a smile. They've barely started and already Hannibal has him feeling like he's glowing. 

Hannibal, well accustomed to the role of host, gestures graciously – granting his permission to begin. "Bon appetit."

Will doesn't hesitate to dig in. It's rich, velvety and, as is always the case with Hannibal's cooking, perfect. 

The meat is so tender it almost falls off the bone with a look, and melts in his mouth. Even the bone marrow is like ambrosia. The vegetables are stewed without being soggy, the bed of creamy risotto underneath balancing out the tomato and herb notes of the sauce. 

Will steadily demolishes the hefty plate down to about half its original contents. The excitement is palpable, buzzing like electricity in the air. Will wonders when the lightning will strike.

If Hannibal wasn't watching so intently between forkfuls of his own smaller portion, he might not have noticed the devilish smirk that flashed across Will's lips, cunning eyes scanning as he turns something over in his head. 

Will places down his cutlery and moves his seat back half an inch from the table. Hannibal straightens up, intrigued by the cocky look of anticipation on Will's face, the arch of his brow that seems to be challenging, daring him.

"Finish your plate."

"I don't know that I can." Will says, though they both know he's bluffing, testing the waters as he gives Hannibal a coquettish look from under his long eyelashes.

Hannibal pauses picking at his plate, fixing Will with a look that makes him squirm in his seat.

"You understand, Will, that when I prepare a meal for you, it is an act of love?" Hannibal elegantly arches an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

"Yes." Will gets out around the breath caught in his throat.

"Would you allow my love to go to waste?" 

His voice is like honey, like the anticipation pooling in Will's stomach, thick and warm; but there's a danger to the look in his eyes, a predator adjusting its stance, that tells Will there is a wrong answer and there'll be hell to pay if he picks it.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Will breathes. He imagines that Hannibal can hear his racing heartbeat across the dining table.

Hannibal eyes him for a moment longer, watching the heat creep up Will's cheeks. Satisfied, he gestures forward with his fork, repeats "Finish your plate."

Will doesn’t argue. Soon, he can feel the sheer amount of food he's eaten start to settle heavily in his gut, can feel the sting of his stomach stretching to accommodate the tender meat, the sauce soaked risotto.

The  _ look _ on Hannibal's normally composed face as Will undoes his belt does not go unnoticed – rosy lips parted, hooded eyes trained on Will's bloated belly, dark with want. 

Oddly, Will finds that he's almost proud that Hannibal is so aroused by the sight of him eating. It feels like love, like absolute adoration, that Will can enjoy a heavy meal lovingly prepared by Hannibal's hand, and watching Will enjoy it, growing fuller with every bite, has Hannibal blushing like a maiden.

Will sucks the last bite of tender meat from his fork and leans back in his seat, victorious. He places a hand on his strained gut, breathing slightly heavier from the weight of it. With a groan, he squeezes his eyes shut and when he reopens them, Hannibal is still watching wide eyed.

Will can't help the satisfied smirk creeping across his lips. Behind closed eyes, he hears Hannibal stand stiffly, the click of his shoes on the floor as he rounds the head of the table to Will’s side.

Will cracks open one eye, glancing at the bulge in Hannibal's tailored trousers as he busies himself collecting the dishes. Will appraises the tension in his back and the shallow breaths he takes as he rushes to clear the table and present the next course, the redness blooming up his neck and onto his cheeks. 

Most intriguing is something Will has never seen before, something he wasn't sure was even possible: Hannibal Lecter  _ flustered _ .

Hannibal's barely eaten half his dinner, Will notes as he sets it on top of Will's empty plate.  _ Hypocrite. _

Before hurriedly disappearing to the kitchen with his stack of plates, Hannibal wordlessly pours him more Pinot Noir, liquid like arterial blood as it splashes into the glass; the colour probably matches the heat of his face, Will thinks.

Will murmurs a thanks, nursing the glass at first before turning his attention to cradling his full belly. Hannibal's focus on his figure over the past few months has already increased his appetite and added a couple of pounds, a gentle filling out of his gaunt cheeks and a layer of softness over his abdomen. 

Despite his initial hesitation, Will found himself enjoying it; not just the very welcome attention from his off-the-books therapist, but no longer treating his body as just a vessel that he inhabits. 

Before Hannibal, he largely ate like a college student: black coffee, a granola bar and a banana before work; lunch was instant ramen and dry chicken sandwiches. He included plenty of fish in his diet, got his five a day where he could, and made balanced meals when he had time – but encephalitis and dissociation do tend to make grocery shopping slip one's mind.

Hannibal, observant bastard, had noticed fairly quickly and brought it up in a session –  _ "How is your relationship with food?" _ he'd asked unexpectedly, eyeing the bagginess of Will's plaid flannel. 

_ "My what?" _ Will remembers being a little taken aback – although it had been a few weeks since the last grisly murder and that was leaving them a little short on conversation topics, plenty of drawers in Will's head he didn't want anyone rummaging around in.

Hannibal had (for the most part) abandoned his usual riddles and metaphors and discussed, like a normal therapist, self-compassion and the importance of feeding yourself as you would feed a loved one. 

Will had taken his advice and made a conscious effort to stop seeing his body as something he was simply maintaining in the hope of getting his security deposit back. Over time, both Will feeding himself better and Hannibal feeding Will like a loved one had left his clothes a little less roomy and his mood overall better.

Will is shaken out of his thoughts by the clink of ceramic on hardwood. He looks up as Hannibal, blush settling over his high cheekbones, sets a fork beside the single plate in front of Will.

It contains the  _ biggest _ slice of cheesecake Will's ever seen in his life. 

Not only is it more than a third of a cheesecake, it's easily three inches tall, loaded with cream and chocolate, garnished with strawberries and candied rose petals. Unfortunately for Will, it smells irresistible.

"Hannibal, there's no way I could eat all this." Will says wide eyed, worried for his already tested stomach capacity.

"Of course you can. Perhaps you just need some help."

Hannibal reaches over and brushes Will's hair out of his eyes, caressing his stubbled cheek. "May I feed you?" 

Will considers this for a moment, hungry eyes trailing from Hannibal's flushed cheeks, to his erection obvious through the tight fabric. Then breathlessly, barely above a whisper, "Yes."

Hannibal sinks to his knees and positions himself between Will's legs, plate in one hand and fork in the other. He uses the edge of the fork to cut Will a generous bite.

"What is this?" Will asks, intrigued by the pink filling – Hannibal would never make something as simple as  _ just _ strawberry.

"Strawberry and rosewater." Hannibal says thickly, focus elsewhere. 

He offers the fork to Will's mouth and Will allows Hannibal to feed him, feeling a little embarrassed. He closes his eyes as the fork withdraws, savouring the flavours with an appreciative moan.

It's  _ divine _ . 

Holy fuck, this is possibly the most delicious thing Will has ever eaten. 

The strawberries, both in the filling and the garnish, are fresh and bursting with juice that tastes like summer. The rose comes through perfectly – far from overpowering but not so subtle that he's left searching for it. The biscuit base is clearly homemade, buttery and golden brown with just enough salt to balance the sweetness of the whipped cream and the dark chocolate finely laced over it.

He feels like a Greek God or a Renaissance muse, spoiled and pampered, overfed on the finest grapes the vineyard has to offer. Hannibal wouldn't allow his beloved anything less.

He takes one look at Hannibal – beautiful on his knees, ready and eager to do anything Will asks of him – at the light twinkling in his dark eyes, his pupils blown wide and cheeks glowing. All of Will's embarrassment and self-doubt fades away instantly, like bluffs eroding into the sea.

Will decides that if he's doing this, he may as well commit to it. He allows Hannibal to feed him the entire ridiculous slice, making sure he knows how much Will is enjoying it.

Every few bites, he holds Hannibal's gaze and slowly, deliberately, sucks the fork as it withdraws from his lips. Will finds himself revelling in the enraptured look on Hannibal's face, the heavy bobbing of his Adam's apple.

He allows Hannibal to push him from sated to uncomfortably full to outright  _ stuffed _ . The fuller he gets, the more control he finds slipping away from him and into Hannibal's favour, growing more and more aroused as his stomach balloons. 

By the time only a few forkfuls remain, Will is a mess. His cheeks are burning, curls sticking to his damp forehead as the stretching pain of his swollen belly makes it difficult to breathe, to think.

"Please, Hannibal," Will begs, panting as he cradles his overstuffed stomach. "Please, I can't eat another bite."

"You can finish it, Will." Hannibal says hoarsely, accent thick. 

Will bites his lip and feebly shakes his head as tears prick the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm too full." He whines, and he isn't even taken aback by how pathetic he sounds. He groans and curses under his breath, rubbing circles along the side of his belly.

Hannibal lets out a shuddering breath, leaning to rest his forehead against the crest of Will's aching gut. "Finish it and I can make you feel better, darling." 

A soft cry escapes Will's throat as Hannibal begins teasing the soft paunch of fat under his navel, pinching and grabbing. He breathes heavily for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, then gives Hannibal a weak nod.

By now he's almost sick of the taste of it, but he allows Hannibal to force the last few morsels of creamy decadence into his mouth, stomach stinging in protest.

"Good boy, Will." Hannibal breathes in reverence, like he's just witnessed a miracle. 

He nuzzles into the fullest part of Will's gut, kissing through the fabric, and Will unabashedly moans as his hands roam over the taut sensitive dome of his abdomen.

Hannibal is so hard that it hurts. He leans back on his heels to look up at Will, taking him in in all his beauty; the light forming a halo behind his curls, his pink lips parted and eyes closed in ecstasy, round belly heaving with every laboured breath. From this angle he looks huge, utterly overfed.

Will leans as far forward as he can without hurting his ballooned belly, Hannibal leaning up to meet him. Will presses his hot forehead to Hannibal's, breathing shakily as he grabs a fistful of Hannibal's shirt.

They stay like that for a few moments, Will grounding himself in his lover's presence as Hannibal's long fingers card through his hair, whispering praise against his mouth.

Will finds himself being slowly pushed back against the seat as Hannibal manoeuvres them both into a more comfortable position, Will's knees squeezing his sides. 

He rests his cheek against Will's heaving chest and Will kisses the top of his head, one hand still curled into a death grip around Hannibal's shirt, the other playing with his greying hair.

Hannibal's broad hands explore his bloated stomach, fingers teasing over the sliver of exposed skin where his shirt is ridden up. Will leans into it, wincing.

"What are we doing now?" Will says shakily, eyes closed, damp brow furrowed. Hannibal pulls back to look at him.

"Would you like me to take care of this?" Hannibal runs a finger over Will's erection, making him gasp and shiver.

"Can we go to the bedroom first?"

"Do you think you can manage?"

"Just... if you let me, I'll sit here all night." Will chuckles, muffling a burp with his fist.

"You can sit here all night if you need, Will." 

"Naw, I-" he tails off into a groan of discomfort, cradling his heavy belly as he shifts himself forward.

"Do you need anything? A glass of water?"

"If I ingest anything else tonight, Hannibal, I'll explode. Maybe you'd be into that, hm?" he teases, running one finger along Hannibal's jaw to his chin.

Hannibal chuckles softly, taking hold of Will's wrist and pressing a kiss to his palm. "I have no interest in making you explode, Will. I'd like to keep you intact long enough to witness the fruits of my labour."

Will laughs softly, stroking his thumb across Hannibal's cheek. "I'd imagine that you would." 

He imagines those fruits of Hannibal’s labour — his lover cultivating him like a cherry tree, allowing Will to blossom bigger, softer, under his attentive care — and finds it goes straight to his cock. "I'm… excited to see it." he admits, rewarded with a proud smile from Hannibal.

"Let's get you up." Hannibal stands with a groan, knees sore from the prolonged pressure. He offers a hand to Will who takes it, hauling him to his feet. Will moans, shudders as Hannibal pulls him closer.

"It hurts." He whimpers against Hannibal's shoulder, feeling completely helpless, beached and huge.

"You did so well to eat all that for me, Will." Hannibal murmurs, trailing burning kisses along Will's jaw. Will's cock twitches at the praise and the fingers carding through his hair.

"How do you feel?" Hannibal asks against his temple, pulling Will closer with a hand on his ass until he can feel the swell of his stuffed gut press against Hannibal's. Hannibal is not a slight man and the size difference between Will’s protruding gut and his own subtle softness sends more hot blood rushing south.

"Like a prize hog." Will chuckles and notices how Hannibal's knees buckle before he rights himself. The fact that Hannibal is so turned on by this makes Will want to drop to his knees and take his cock into the heat of his throat then and there.

"Let's get you taken care of." he pulls back and pats Hannibal's solid bicep. 

Hannibal closes his eyes with an amused huff of laughter. "I would appreciate that."


End file.
